


Fill My Eyes

by orphan_account



Series: Random Babblings [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And I was a little tipsy, C'mon It's Me, Double Vision was on repeat, Gen, I don't care if you read it or not, I made this solely for me, I mean, M/M, Scooby Doo Cartoons, See previous tags for reasons, but hey, soul mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 07:47:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2142876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No. I don’t know. Maybe. Look, I came here because I’d like to get comfortable in my own skin before I go fix some things. One night. Then I’m gone. You won’t have to deal with me again.”</p><p>He peered at the angel “No tricks."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fill My Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened. What? DOn't look at me like that I needed soul mates and I got got stuck on my other work but don't worry its okay now. I might expand this when I have time... `kay have fun

It started with a song on the radio. To be specific, Asia’s greatest hit. It wasn’t like the disc jockeys bypassed certain songs, they couldn’t be blamed and his brother would barely give the song another thought. So, it was a completely random accident. Nothing too memorable if he was lying to himself again but in hindsight, Sam should have shut it off as soon as it came on, should have unfurled himself from the uncomfortable position he’d been trying to sleep in and shut off that damn song. 

But he hadn’t. He didn’t want to have Dean’s questioning glare on him. He didn’t want to have another discussion about things that couldn’t be changed. Mainly, he was just that desperate to have the heavy silence that would settle between them if he did shut it off held at bay.

The more the song continued, the straighter he became. Till finally he was sitting up, stiff and tense in the passenger seat. This drew Dean’s gaze on him anyway. “Sam?”

He pulled his bottom lip in his mouth and released it before answering “Yeah?”

“You okay? You look at little stressed.” his brother said, glancing at him before looking back to the highway.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” he answered; it was quick and offered no explanation except a warning for privacy. And reluctantly, Dean nodded, dropping it.

He suffered through to the end of the song, images of faulty wiring and weak cable cords and food poisoning spinning through his head. And something else. Something gleaming against his thoughts.  
\-----------

One night after a hunt when Dean had gone to a nearby bar and he had trudged back to the motel room they had chosen for the night, yet another “accident” happened. It would have been innocent to everyone else, maybe even Dean since it had been so long ago but it made Sam stop and swallow. A magazine opened to an article about strange abductions. Romance-deprived aliens being three paragraphs of it. 

He had stared at the laminated pages for longer than he’d care to admit before rolling up the magazine and throwing it away and proceeding to get in the shower to wipe that night’s blood away.

\-----------

Small things, really. Small indiscernible things that only Sam seemed to notice. Maybe it was because now he was practically looking for them. Maybe it was because that gleaming something was gnawing on the new possibility like a starving dog did with a bone. Searching every place that they happened to stop at for signs of something that couldn’t possibly be. Something that had died ,along with many of others, during what would have been the apocalypse.

At the moment, when he made this conclusion, he was half drugged and in the middle of some forest so his judgment on what was real and what was not was spacey and tilted. But he could’ve sworn a smirk and green utility jacket had been in front of him momentarily. Thus the reason he’d shot at what Dean later said ,after finding Sam passed out in a heap on the forest floor with an empty chamber for his gun, was a tree.

He didn’t believe that and now carried an extra flask of holy oil with him, despite the gleam‘s arguments. God, he sounded nuts. 

\-------------  
If it was the archangel, this was a very big and still skeptical _if_ , he didn’t really know what he’d do. Shooting him, obviously, had been the first thing that came to mind, the little bastard had killed Dean how many times but Sam would then force himself to remember the imp had also died at the hands of Lucifer because he charged them with locking the devil back in his box. So, shooting him wasn’t a part of the plan anymore. Well, not the first plan, anyway. But his outlook on angels had changed since the cage. His outlook on everything had changed. 

The flask of holy oil stayed with him.

\-------------  
He talked with Cas in the bunker about Metatron’s illusion and the possibility of the genuine article being alive and well. Cas had given a cryptic stare before disagreeing but Sam could tell something was being hidden, something being held back from him. He hated that.

Crowley’s idea of melted angel blade bullets settled in his mind and he put one single shining bullet in his inside jacket pocket, next to the flask. The gleam all but flickered out.

\-------------  
Sam stayed silent when Cas and Dean would take off to other parts of the bunker and said nothing when the walls echoed sounds he could have gone to his grave gladly without. Focusing on research and pushing the last traces of angel from his mind and body. He found a candy bar wrapper pressed into a book that held Enochian words and lettering. Dean wouldn’t touch it, the book focused on simple spells so Cas wouldn’t glance through it, and it was covered in dust.

Admittedly, the bullet lost its place in Sam’s jacket but the flask stayed where it was. The gleam flared back into life, a bit brighter than before.

\-------------  
It was murky out, fog had settled in and wrapped everything in a grey blanket, Dean had gone into town with Cas “looking for a case” and Sam had been breathing in the tight air of the bunker for hours pouring over books. Now, he stood outside, his eyes darting to every quick flash of movement and every tiny sound. He knew he was on edge. He knew it would have been a good idea to tell Dean about his whole hey-remember-that-trickster-slash-archangel-well-he-isn’t-really-dead theory. He should’ve at least mentioned it. Funny how that only occurred to him when he was basically blinded from any oncoming attack and said archangel definitely knew where the bunker was. If he was alive, that is. Despite this knowledge, he stayed in the mist, quietly wondering what exactly he was standing there for. 

After a few more moments of waiting for some horror film creature to rise from the fog, Sam sighed (maybe with a little disappointment) and turned around going back into the bunker. He looked around the empty station and still nothing fizzled into existence to haunt him and no slight whisper of wings teased his ear drums. He mumbled something about "Stupid candy wrapper doesn’t mean anything" as he walked into the Men of Letter’s kitchen and got a beer from the fridge. And yet again, he half expected something to be ominously standing there when he turned around to face the hallway to the rooms but still nothing was there. And really, that was _not_ disappointment in his stomach; he had just swallowed to fast. 

As he headed down the hall, he wondered why he would feel anything but anger and perhaps even a nice amount of hatred for the celestial being in question, if it was disappointment. Which it wasn’t. Why in Hell’s (or Heaven‘s, he wasn’t partial) name should he care if the archangel was alive or not? Sure, he appreciated the fact that the entity gave his life for the cause but so had a lot of others. What made him special? Not mentioning the fact that this particular being was one of the four main embodiments of the Heavenly Host, _the_ Messenger of God, the Angel God had commanded to kill the children of the Watchers and apparently had been the General of all Garrisons, according to some of the texts Sam had read so, all in all, he _should_ be treated with difference. Hell, some would say awe. But Sam doesn’t know him by those things, he knows him as a janitor who didn’t take other people’s shit, he knows him as a trickster who killed his older brother countless of times just so Sam would accept the fact that Dean would (and did) die and the trickster wouldn’t be there to reset the clock again, he knows him as a scared runway kid who punched him in the balls for a game show no one watched, and finally, yes, he knows him as the archangel who died for them. _No, for a cause_ , his brain corrected, _a cause and an old flame_. 

He blinked away the revere and he was staring into his room at the bunker, the desk covered in books, opened and half-opened and the old pages of some (he was ashamed to say) dog-eared for later review. Another jacket of his lay across the chair in front of the desk and Sam frowned. 

He specifically remembered putting that in the closet. Didn’t he?

He ran a hand down his face and shook his head, he was just tired, and he was grasping at threads that simply weren’t real. He’d probably meant to hang it up and forgotten about it. He set his beer down, changed into a pair of sweat pants and a comfortably t-shirt before propping pillows up on the headboard of his bed and falling down onto it, pulling a worn book from the nightstand into his lap and flicking the table lamp on, settling in to read about forsaken castaways and shifting islands and Captain Nemo himself. 

He had read through the book multiple times and he was to the part where the castaways were just moving into the cave when there was a thud somewhere down in the archives. He paused, looking up from his reading and waited. For another sound, for an attack. Anything. After twenty minutes of staring at his doorway and nothing occurred, he slowly looked back down, getting lost in the story once again.

The second time it happened, he didn’t bother to mark his place or mentally check where he had left off, he grabbed Ruby’s-his knife and got off the bed, heading off into the maze of files and documented hunts for whatever was making that sound. 

He never stopped to remember what he’d been waiting outside for earlier, he had just gone into danger mode and took off, but now, in some aisle that was clearly dedicated to- he checked the nearest file- ghouls, it hit him.

Of course, he didn’t think it could really be the archangel. That would be ridiculous and impossible (the latter according to Cas). And, for God sake, why couldn’t he just say his name? 

_What’s the phrase, again?_

His mind prompted, he almost succeeded in pushing the thought away but another thud about four aisles away let it finish before he could stop it.

_“If you say it, it makes it real.”_

He scowled at himself and jogged over to the suspected aisle but it was empty except for a few knocked over file boxes. Checking his right and his left, he took a step toward the spilled documents. Then he looked up and glanced behind himself before walking over completely and giving the files a quick scan. 

Resurrection. 

His breathe caught in his throat and he searched his surroundings again but nothing presented itself out of the ordinary. A quick glance down to the red lettering to reassure himself he did read that right and still another scan over his area. He licked his suddenly dry lips and rolled the bone handle of the knife over in his palm, breathing in and letting it rushing out of his lungs. He really, _really_ , should have told Dean his theory.

“Gabriel?”

Before he could blink, before he could even breathe in, the flap of wings flicked at his ears and the man-figure of speech- of the hour was smirking at him, merely inches in front of his nose.

“Thought you’d never call.”

It was instincts that made him react the way he did. At least, he thought so. But the angel in front of him was simply staring at the knife now embedded in his shoulder with a quizzical look on his face. He rolled the shoulder and the knife moved with it albeit in a jerkily, half morbid, kind of way. “Guess you’re not too happy to see me, then.” he quipped, not bothering to look up at Sam, quite fascinated with the knife in his shoulder. “I mean, I can feel it, but I can’t.” he murmured and Sam had the feeling he was just talking rather than directing the statement at anything and blood started soaking into green fabric around the wound. “It doesn’t hurt but I can feel the cursed steel slicing at my muscles, it’s really weird.” 

Sam couldn‘t help the skepticism on his face. _“What?”_

Gabriel looked up, eyes still filled with curiosity before it dimmed away to the regular mischievous gleam “Sorry, the last blade I had in me-” he waggled his eyebrows and Sam rolled his eyes and he shrugged looking back at the knife “-was designed to hurt _me_. I could feel that blade draining my Grace and my life. This, well, this just tickles.”

“Yeah, about that. How, exactly, are you alive?” Sam asked, trying to ignore how high the archangel in front of him sounded.

Gabriel scrunched up his nose “I’m not high. I just need a minute, I haven‘t flown in awhile and I got dizzy.”

Sam glared at him, he didn‘t like things in his mind. Not Lucifer. Not Gadreel. He had had enough of that particular roller coaster, thank you very much. “Don’t do that.”

Gabriel shrugged again “I’m not in you’re mind. You project. Not very much, a lower angel couldn’t hear you. I think I can because I’m at the right frequency, same as Lucifer.” he said as he gripped the knife handle, twisting it a little bit then pulling it out before Sam could stop him, blood welling through the jacket and dripping down onto the floor, Gabriel still watching the whole scene. Something occurred to Sam, Cas had been like this. When his brother’s angel had taken away Sam’s pain from the cage, he’d gone on the other side of the spectrum. Gabriel just seemed like someone gave him another dose of personality. 

He snapped his fingers in front of Gabriel’s face and the angel immediately glared at him “I’m not high. I just need to get used to being….” he shifted his whole body in a weird way that made Sam think of rubber “…compacted, again. I wasn’t reincarnated in my normal state I was just shoved back in my vessel. My Grace is rubbing against itself.”

Sam would not acknowledge how wrong that sounded, at all.

Gabriel grinned at him but shook his head “It doesn’t feel good. Feels like an itch you can’t scratch. Then multiply that by Pi.” he explained, snapping his fingers and the wound closed, the fabric like new again. The archangel’s blood still gleamed against the steel of the knife but he handed it back to Sam, anyway.

The hunter looked at it before glancing back up at Gabriel “You know how many spells could be used against you if they had your blood?”

Gabriel nodded, rocking back on his feet and a sucker materialized in his mouth “A total of one. And you’d need all the other head honchos blood as well. But, hey, if you hate me that bad, feel free to give it away.”

It hadn’t occurred to Sam that handing over the bloodied knife was an act of trust. It did now.

He wasn’t sure if he was still ’projecting’ or not but he gave an uncertain look to the angel a few inches away from him. Which ,surprisingly, their proximity hadn’t really bothered Sam. Gabriel, if he knew what Sam was thinking or not, plucked the sucker out of his mouth and motioned to the bunker around them “Finally tracing your roots, Sammy?” 

“It’s Sam. And how do you-never mind. Yeah.”

Gabriel nodded at him, before walking in the general direction of the kitchen. “Archangel, remember? Yeah, you and Dean-o come from a long line of self-sacrificing scholars and hunters and overall fighters of all things supernatural.” Sam could hear the slight in the way it was said and his fist clenched.

“Well, somebody had to.” he growled, following.

Gabriel shrugged “Suppose so. You got any ice cream?”

Sam shook his head “I doubt it. Gabriel, how are you alive?”

And for the second time the archangel just brushed the question off but Sam grabbed the inside of his arm and turned him so he was facing Sam. Anger flared briefly on the trickster’s face before it died out and golden eyes averted Sam’s gaze. “How are you alive?” he repeated, it came out through clenched teeth and he didn’t know why.

He jerked his arm from Sam’s grip and looked back, confusion and hatred and a small dose of hope in his eyes “I. Don’t. Know.” and then he sighed, it sounded like someone who had been alive for far too long and had seen far too much. “I don’t know. I just woke up. In a motel room, to be specific, with a Chevy Impala in the parking lot. I was weak and drained and I hightailed it out of there before you and Dean-o even showed up from whatever it was that you were doing. I’d like to think it was a ritual. Hell, I’d be willing to accept Kali had done it. But…..” he trailed off, keeping the fact that he’d suddenly been able to know where Sam was all of the time or that there was some new little strand in the back of his mind he just couldn’t place having before to himself. He watched as Sam’s eyes widen.

“You think….” Sam asked

Gabriel shrugged for the third time, since when had the archangel become so unsure of himself? “No. I don’t know. Maybe. Look, I came here because I’d like to get comfortable in my own skin before I go fix some things. One night. Then I’m gone. You won’t have to deal with me again.”

He peered at the angel “No tricks.”

Gabriel nodded “Done.”

“And you’ll leave in the morning?” he questioned.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and repeated “You won’t have to deal with me again.”

Sam looked skeptic and he crossed his arms “Ever?”

If Sam didn’t know better he would have said hurt flickered across the archangel’s face just then before it was replaced with a signature smirk and hands splayed out in surrender “Never ever, sweetheart.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head; he was going to regret this, wasn’t he? “Fine. One night.”

Gabriel smirked and raised his hand, snapping his fingers again and they now stood in the kitchen, with two empty bowls sitting on the counter. Sam raised an eyebrow but Gabriel had turned to root through the freezer for ice cream. 

He set a down a container that read "Pistachio Almond" and Sam sent another questioning look; he didn’t eat ice cream much. But he usually made an exception when it came to that flavor. _“Projecting” my ass_ , Sam thought and he heard a snort from the archangel currently shoved half way into their fridge; Sam did _not_ glance at Gabriel’s ass. When Gabriel emerged, his arms were full of chocolate syrup, whip cream, and sprinkles (which Sam knew for a fact that they didn’t have) with the playful smile on his lips. He pointed a finger at Sam as he conjured an ice cream scooper in his other hand “You _do_ project. When I said ice cream, you rabbit trailed to your favorite flavor. And as it so happened, I was craving some myself.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam muttered but took the offered bowl before Gabriel could add any of the sweet junk he had put on his own.

He grabbed a clean spoon from the drain board and then started heading to his room but walked right into an invisible field. “Gabriel!” he hissed, turning around and clutching the bowl so it wouldn’t fall from his hand.

The archangel raised an eyebrow “You’ve read that book a total of 47 times, how about you watch a movie with me, instead?”

He frowned at Gabriel, _what are you playing at?_

But the angel only offered a grin around a spoonful of ice cream. 

“What movie?“ he asked in resignation .

“ _Itt ___?“ Gabriel offered, baiting the hunter.

Sam scowled at him “No.”

A satisfied smile crept onto Gabriel’s lips “Are you really scared of clowns, Winchester?”

“I don’t know, are you really an asshole?“ Sam shot back, reconsidering the movie offer.

“I’m just saying, you fight all this weird stuff and you’re afraid of clowns. It’s not natural.” Gabriel said, sticking the ice cream-filled spoon in his mouth.

“This coming from an archangel.” Sam said, watching how Gabriel wrapped his lips around the whole spoon before shaking his head and glancing toward his room

Gabriel scoffed “I was specially created by God, Sammy, I’m the most naturalist thing your ass will ever see.” he said, waving his spoon at Sam.

Sam followed the metallic glint with his eyes then gave a look toward the celestial being in their kitchen that screamed ‘need-I-say-more?’

It was funny how Gabriel had won the argument but still felt as though he’d lost. He sighed “Fine. I’ll put on some cartoons. Happy?”

Sam sighed and walked into the other room, sitting down and propping his feet up on the table, he heard the snap of fingers and the original _Scooby Doo, Where Are You?_ T.V. show started playing on the projector with Gabriel sitting down right next to Sam, his back to the hunter as the beginning credits played over the screen.

He wasn’t sure how it happened but sometime during the fourth or fifth episode, Gabriel had leaned back against his legs and Sam‘s hand found itself playing with the ends of the blonde hair that was scattered over his pants. When he realized what he was doing he retracted his hand and hoped Gabriel hadn’t noticed. 

During the credits of the end of one episode, a thud met Sam’s ears again and he flicked Gabriel. 

“Ow! What was that for?” Gabriel muttered rubbing the back of his head, freezing the episode with a quick wave of his hand.

“I get it, you’re alive, enough with the whole mysterious sounds.” he grumbled at the archangel.

Gabriel was too busy rubbing his head “What? What are you talking about?”

Sam rolled his eyes “When I was reading…the noises you made so I’d leave my room.”

Gabriel froze and glanced back at Sam “Kiddo, all I did was knock over a box when you were a couple aisles over; I just assumed you were researching when I popped in, I didn’t make any noises.”

Sam cocked his head “Heh.” his mind started racing that meant something had been in the Bunker for over a couple hours now and it was still here. “Oh, fuck.” he mumbled, scrabbling out of the chair. He paused for a moment trying to remember what he had done with the knife and when he remembered, he heard a snap. He turned to hiss a warning at Gabriel but all that came out was “Like, maybe we should go check it out.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he slapped a hand over his mouth, casting a glance down his body and sure enough, loose burgundy pants barely clung to his hips and an even looser green v-neck wrapped his torso. He pulled at the shirt with his hands, thankful that the material was actually pretty nice before glaring up at Gabriel, who wore a smirk that would have looked big on Tyrannosaurus Rex. He pointed his finger and tried for “You said no tricks, you little bastard!” what came out was “Hey, man, I thought we agreed no whammies.” 

Gabriel just laughed “Oh my god, you look just like him! You sound even better.”

He couldn’t believe he had let the archangel stay! He couldn’t believe he had checked him out either. He threw up his hands.

But another thud cut off Sam’s next protest and the laughter, both of them looking in the direction it came from. They both headed for the kitchen, Sam grabbing the still bloody Demon knife off the counter.

They had gotten maybe half way toward the source of the noise when it happened again and Sam, by no thought or will or action of his own, yelped and literally jumped into Gabriel's not so open arms. 

Surprised by the sudden weight Gabriel almost dropped him and fell over himself but he steadied out just in time, his archangel strength apparent as he held up a man who was easily at least a foot taller than him. Who he was now holding bridal style in the middle of a Bunker dedicated to the quest of all things paranormal and weird. Not exactly what Gabriel had in mind but he’d take what he could get. “Hey, Shaggy, get scared often?” the little thread tugged at his brain hard and he winced.

Sam noticed and pushed himself out of the shockingly strong arms and hit the cold cement floor with a thwack before he stood up, brushing the dust off the green shirt. He shoved his hair behind his ears and muttered an apology then took off down the aisle heading in the direction the sound had last come from. 

Gabriel stood there for a moment trying to figure out why the thread had jerked, he shook it off and jogged to catch up with Sam, the hunter waiting for him at the end of an aisle.

He waltzed back into the Winchester’s personal space without a second thought. “Whatcha doing?”

Sam scowled down at him and refrained from speaking. Shame, Gabriel liked his Shaggy voice. The hunter took a deep breath before peering around the end of the aisle to see what had been making that noise. 

Sam groaned, walking out into the other aisle, when he saw what it was and shook his head as Gabriel came to stand next him, the pint sized angel laughing immediately. 

It was yet another spare bed room, the door pushed open and was swinging slightly because the fan on the desk had been left on high and on the rotation setting. If it hit the door, the door would shut. Not being able to latch again when the fan turned the other way, the door would be pulled back open. The room was littered with spare clothing of Dean’s and a blue tie hung on the door, the reason why it was kept from latching.

“Dude, I need to be like myself again.” his voice squeaking like the cartoon’s. Gabriel’s fingers snapped while he still laughed. Sam sighed when he found himself in his sweatpants again. His gaze immediately shot up and he grabbed the lapels of the utility jacket Gabriel had on, glaring fiercely as he shoved the angel up against the nearest metal shelf. “I should douse you in holy oil and strike a match.” he growled.

Gabriel eyes flickered and he smirked “You should.” he said, licking his lips and glancing down at Sam’s. “But you won’t.” he finished, whiskey eyes going back to his.

“Oh, I won’t?” he asked, shoving him back against the metal “And why won’t I be doing this?”

Gabriel closed his eyes and did something he thought he’d never do again. He prayed. _Please. I don’t want to be wrong on this. Dad, please_. And then he wrapped the other tendrils of his mind around that one silver thread and tugged with all the divine power he had. “Because of that.”

Sam dropped him and gasped, sucking in all the air he could and staring at Gabriel wide eyed “But I thought….I thought that was just a part of Gadreel…..left over or something…It felt so …pure.” he said, his eyebrows bent down in confusion and wonder on his face. 

Gabriel nodded slowly “I uhh… I don’t know a whole lot about this. These situations, I mean. I’ve only ever seen it happen a few times….and it usually ended it tragedy. Well, your brother and Cas, not so much but that story hasn‘t ended-Not that it's going to end in tragedy!…but I‘ve never…. It’s just…eternity is one hell of a long time.”

“What do you mean? What is this?” Sam asked, motioning between himself and Gabriel.

Gabriel arched an eyebrow “Really? What do you think it is?”

Sam screwed up his face “I don’t know!”

“Don’t know or don’t want to? Because if it’s the latter, say it and I’m gone.” and it was his turn to get testy because it’s not like he asked for this! Although, he’d admit that he had a bit of crush on the younger Winchester, but soul mates were….well, fuck, it was soul mates! It literally meant tying their souls together; those threads would become bridges into each others feelings. Even his initial thoughts would be pulsated through to Sam. Hell, if the kid tried now he could probably get them. But eternity?

Nobody deserved to be tied to him until the sun burned out.

Sam snapped up “Now, who’s projecting?”

He blinked and looked himself over before looking back up to Sam and squinting his eyes “Did you pick up the thread?”

“It sounds weird when you say it like that. Accurate, sure. But still.” Sam said, shaking his head, obviously trying to process all of this. Gabriel watched him pace for a few minutes before opening his mouth to say something but Sam glared at him and he shut it again.

After another 15 minutes or so of pacing Sam stopped. “Look, I’ve had too many people in my mind lately. And I’m not completely sure what this -” another motion between himself and Gabriel “-means. But I know I can‘t do this-”

Gabriel gave a quick nod and lifted his hand to snap himself to a bar or someplace with copious amounts of alcohol but Sam caught his wrist and frowned. “Right now.” he finished, giving Gabriel a pointed stare “I’m exhausted. I need sleep. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.” 

The archangel remained impassive for a couple seconds before lowering his arm slowly and when Sam didn’t let go, he looked down at the hand encircling his wrist then back up at Sam. The hunter blushed and dropped it, heading back to the main room.

Sam was there in seconds by how fast he was walking, focusing on just breathing; he went to the table and picked up the bowls. He turned and Gabriel was giving him another quizzical stare from the door way of the kitchen. Sam bypassed him, taking their empty bowls and putting them in the sink then practically running to his room. 

“You can sleep in whatever room you want.” he said, as they stood at the door to his room.

Gabriel nodded, looking in front and behind, surveying his choice of rooms. He caught Sam looking at him and still said nothing, quizzical look in place.

“What about yours?” Gabriel finally asked, glancing into the room.

Sam froze. Now, lots of scenarios played through his head, not all of them involving sex with an archangel but quite a few. He couldn’t find the point where sometime during his searching for signs of Gabriel it had turned into an almost desperate wish than a confirmation. He wasn’t quite clear on when wanting to shoot him became wanting to finally see him again. And he was hazy on the fact that there was no way this could end well.

He finally remembered his basic rotary skills and pushed the archangel up against the door frame and glared down at him again. It was confusing, to say the very least. He could feel anxious breath hitting his lips, he watched golden eyes glue to his lips, everything was screaming that he was crazy and then there was an ever so gentle tug at the back of his mind. He sealed his lips over the soft trembling ones of an archangel. 

So, what if he was crazy.


End file.
